


Dance Alone to the Beat of Your Heart

by Stormysaslytherin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dark, Gen, I put my baby through so much, I'm pretty evil when it comes to hurting my baby, I'm probably going to save him, Pre slash if you squint, The Alpha Pack, Torture, derek/stiles if you read it that way, only probably, possibly seen as character death, written pre season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:13:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormysaslytherin/pseuds/Stormysaslytherin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The meeting is at the Hale house tonight and Stiles had refused Derek’s offer to pick him up because he didn’t need a babysitter, thank you very much. Defending his honor had sounded like a good idea before the alphas flipped his jeep at the edge of the preserve.</p><p>Written before season 3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance Alone to the Beat of Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoulesIsIronic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoulesIsIronic/gifts).



The Beacon Hills werewolves were actually getting their shit together thanks to this alpha pack, which was the only good thing to come from their presence. Stiles demanded regular meetings with mandatory attendance, because it was the only way they could function as a team instead of being selfish puppies and Stiles seemed to be the only one who could pull everyone together. No surprises there. He hadn’t missed one meeting; with the pack slowly expanding there were a lot more people to keep in the loop and that all had fallen to Stiles. It had been months since he invited Lydia, Danny, and Allison to attend the meetings as human members of the pack; even Derek’s growl couldn’t keep them away. Even Ms. McCall stopped in sometimes, to the embarrassment of Scott as it was purely to check on him. Stiles couldn’t really judge though because the Sheriff checked in just as often as the worried mother if not more. Ms. McCall had spilt the beans to the Sheriff a month ago when he saw Scott covered in blood and Alpha wounds and Stiles had made his dad drive to the McCall house instead of the emergency room. None of them could convincingly explain why the hospital was a very bad idea. His dad knowing was probably for the better, what with the number of murders happening.

The meeting is at the Hale house tonight and Stiles had refused Derek’s offer to pick him up because he didn’t need a babysitter, thank you very much. Defending his honor had sounded like a good idea before the alphas flipped his jeep at the edge of the preserve.

Now he’s running as fast as he can and if Finstock’s suicides have anything to say about that he might actually get to Derek’s house before they catch him. The howls seem a little more distant and that could mean that the pack is falling back, which would be awesome. Maybe they think Stiles isn’t worth it. That would be a change in his luck these days. But seeing as his luck never changes, he hopes that Derek will realize something is wrong when he doesn’t show up at the pack meeting.

The problem with being human is that moonlight isn’t enough to let you see what’s two feet in front of you. Stiles doesn’t even see the stream before he is stumbling through the icy water. Fuck, that’s cold. The rock isn’t even big but Stiles trips over it anyway, falling straight into the wet and decaying leaves covering the forest floor on the other bank, a sharp pain flaring in his ankle because fuck his life.

Stiles really _hates_ the taste of wet leaves. He’s hated it in the past when Derek’s shoved his face in the leaves, repeatedly, as he has taken to doing when he finds Stiles in the wood by himself. And yeah they weren’t Stiles’ wisest moments, what with the Alpha pack and all, and he might have been drunk on a few of those occasions, but Derek isn’t really his Alpha because Stiles is Team Human and doesn’t have to answer to a wolfy sense of heirarchy. He has no say in what Stiles does.

The leaves are rotting and Stiles gags a little as he spits them out. He cringes as the taste doesn’t leave him. And now his hoodie is dirty and completely soaked through with the cold water collecting in the leaves, probably beyond the mystical powers of the washing machine at this point. He rolls onto his back and sits up to wonder at his twisted ankle. Just his fucking luck because, no, it hasn’t changed one bit.

The alpha lands on top of him, pushing him back to the ground, and, while she feels like she weighs nothing, Stiles can’t get up. The struggle does wonders for his confidence. So much for his effort in gym class, so _not_ helping. Stupid werewolves and their muscles. He looks up at the blonde alpha with his best _lets-not-kill-the-Stiles_ look, which always _sorta_ works on Derek’s pack…. At least, in the sense that he is still alive; not in the sense that he has been assaulted by every werewolf of Beacon Hills.

Blondie smiles as she rips open his hoodie and both shirts with one rake of her claws. Stiles can only gape up at her, because really…

“It had a fucking zipper! Didn’t know you were so eager to get me out of my clothes. There are easier ways then flipping my jeep and chasing me through the woods.” He doubled up on Adderall tonight so he doesn’t really have a handle on his thoughts, and he never has a filter so... And fuck! His hoodie and both his shirts are shredded. He just bought these two days ago.

Blondie laughs at him, light and airy, howls bursting out of the woods as her pack catches up. “He’s a lively one, boys,” she sneers excitedly. Yeah, his life definitely became an episode of Supernatural when Scott got bit but he really wishes _his_ villains could actually pull off witty banter. They can’t. It really depresses him.

She snakes a hand around his throat and presses claws into the soft flesh of his stomach without breaking skin. Stiles shivers and fear creeps in, colder than the night air. He finds himself wishing Derek would just show up already, the stern reprimanding would be appropriate and welcome right now. Blondie pushes his chin back and forth, assessing him.

“I can see why Derek chose you. But why hasn’t he turned you?” The alpha leans in to smell him and Stiles pulls back into the leaves as far as he can, a stick pressing into his back.

“Maybe because he isn’t a complete creep,” Stiles huffs. Well, yeah he is a creep, the most creeptastic werewolf besides Peter. Creepy is a must-have trait to be a werewolf; it has to be a requirement, not kidding. Like, sorry if you are a nice person you can’t be a werewolf. How Scott didn’t die from the bite Stiles will never understand.

“You smell like their pack. You smell like him,” she sneers predatorily. Eh, he fucking _smells_ like Derek? When did that happen? He has been hanging out with the Sourwolf more often lately, but why wasn’t he informed? He would like a say in who he smells like and why.

She laves a tongue across his cheek reminiscent of Lydia’s Pomeranian, which is pretty funny cause she’s a dog… but not so funny in that this woman may want to rip his throat out with her teeth. Stiles squirms under her as her pack laughs at him. It’s not like he can help it; with this much adderall in his system, his ADHD _has_ ADHD. He can’t _not_ squirm.

Blondie’s hand moves to squeeze the back of his neck. The pressure makes him freeze like a cat being scruffed. His entire body locks up on him and for a second he stops breathing. Maybe he’s a werecat, but without any cool abilities. If so, he’s is the clumsiest werecat ever. But at least he isn’t grumpy all the time, like Derek. That man has to have some cat in him to pull off that scowl. The dude isn’t even capable of puppy eyes which is possibly the greatest sin ever.

And that is one person he would love to see right now. Stiles’ favorite Sourwolf needs to pull a Mufasa to his Simba and save him from the stampede. Preferably without Derek dying in the process.

Blondie kisses him suddenly and violently, all teeth and no finesse. Stiles is shocked and confused and _what_? Of course, it has to be the _psychotic_ alpha that decides to kiss him after tackling him. Grumpy Gills never did this… inconsiderate bastard. And Derek can most likely smell how horny he is, like all the time. Is that why he smells like Derek? Is that just his natural scent now? Horny?

Blondie sinks her claws deep into his stomach, agony rippling through Stiles’ body. And he really does stop breathing this time. Stiles can feel the slow tear of flesh burning white hot as she moves her fingers deeper inside his body, but is paralyzed to try and stop her.

“Lost your attention for a bit there, sweetheart,” she chides, smiling. “Can’t have that.” The alpha sits astride his hips, her gaze wandering down his body to where her hand is still deep in his stomach, wiggling incessantly. “You back, kiddo?”

A breath shudders into Stiles’ lungs like thunder. Fire is clawing its way through his nerves, blazing a path to his brain. It’s pure agony when she withdraws her fingers so slowly that he can feel them tug on his flesh. He doesn’t even cry out. Isn’t sure his voice works anymore. His side tickles as blood gushes from his stomach into the leaves, dampening them further.

She scratches at the edges of the holes with her claws, making Stiles gasp in a second breath. The sensation would be irritating if Stiles could feel anything besides the intense throbbing that motion inflicted.

“You didn’t answer me.”

Stiles finds words somewhere in his scattered thoughts, “Just kill me and get it over with.” The scratching still doesn’t stop.

The responding chuckle doesn’t reassure Stiles in the slightest. He feels like Harry Potter stuck in the circle of Death Eaters, except Voldemort is a blonde chick who is currently straddling him.

“Haven’t decided whether to kill you or not. You _would_ make a good wolf,” she contemplates. Her face morphs slightly so that Stiles is staring at her very large canines. “Then again… I can’t help thinking of his face.” Stiles immediately knows who she is referring to and yeah he really wants Derek to show up right now.

“The way your body will be on display for that _pup_ of an alpha. His Little Red covered in blood…,” she whispers like a promise, pulling at his red hoodie. Her breath is hot against his skin, highlighting the pain still pulsing through him.

His dad will have to investigate. He will see Stiles’ body sprawled in the woods, covered in blood. Or maybe, they will tear him into so many pieces his dad won’t know it’s him unless they run his dental records.

There are no telltale howls in the distance. The forest is a silent bystander to Stiles’ pain. His hope is fading fast.

“You smell like fear, kid.” Blondie chuckles, her mouth set into a serial killer’s grin. The laugh grows wild as she tears into his chest with her claws, smiling broadly down at him.

Stiles feels a raw scream rip from his throat as her claws dig into his ribs with long punishing strokes, her amusement rolling through the air in counterpoint to the torturous strokes. He pushes at any part of her he can reach but the werewolf is unmovable.

He feels the crack of bone before his brain can process what that means. His screams drown out the sound it makes. Stiles feels her claws break the ribs on his left side and he physically can’t make a noise, his chest won’t expand. He can taste blood and he can’t fucking breathe. Stiles is _drowning_ in himself, in his own blood, pulling in short shallow breaths that bubble up again with no relief for his burning lungs.

He stops struggling, physically and mentally defeated and the pain rolls in and out of his awareness like waves on a beach, a product of his brain short-circuiting. His moments of brief clarity remind him that he is dead… well _almost_ , might as well be. He’s lost too much blood. His injuries are too extensive… Stiles still can’t hear Derek and maybe that hurts the most.

“I want to taste your heart. Maybe present it to Derek right before I kill him,” the alpha muses. Her hand claws under his ribs, searching. Stiles thinks that maybe he can feel his heart beating against her finger tips.

The Adderall and trauma have filled him with so much adrenaline and endorphins that he doesn’t pass out. There are too many chemicals racing through his brain that want him to focus and pay attention. He’s supposed to lose consciousness. He’s supposed to fade out and die before she can show him his own heart. Stiles doesn’t want to see his _own heart_!

The alpha’s weight is pressed into him and breathing becomes impossible with the blood and weight… not worth the effort, really.

The bang that rings in his ears takes several moments to process. A gun? Derek wouldn’t use a _gun_. He doesn’t even own one. Guns don’t kill werewolves. Where was the howling? Where was _his_ Alpha?

Blondie’s weight disappears so quickly that Stiles is almost sure he’s lost time in all this nonsense. He didn’t hear any other shots or any other noises for that matter. Maybe he is imagining…

He chokes a little on the blood that is flooding his lungs because this was in no way a dream. The pain rolls over him again and he shudders at the cold night air now blowing harshly against his skin.

Hands grab his face and, while that doesn’t add to the pain, Stiles cringes in anticipation of a blow. He recognizes a muffled sound but he simply cannot fathom anything but searing agony at the moment. It’s like having too many programs running on your computer at once; something is going to crash.

Stiles focuses in on his father’s face above him, worry and fear in the sheriff’s expression.

 _No_! His dad can’t be here. He can’t find Stiles like this. He… He can’t…

The muffled noises sound more familiar now. His dad’s voice bounces around his head until he can make out what he’s saying. Derek must have called his Dad when he didn’t show up.

“Stiles!” It’s his name. Said over and over again like a plea.

 _Dad!_ It comes out as a particularly violent gurgle as Stiles chokes again, unable to move anything.

A low rumble to Stiles’ right sends a shiver through his bones. _Derek_. He did come for Stiles. The distinct feeling of _right_ eased the pain for a moment and Stiles could focus on the werewolf.

“Can you save him?”

“I don’t know,” comes the answering rumble, like Derek is wolfed out and can’t control it. Stiles had refused Peter but now…

“Save him! Save my son or I’ll…” His father is yelling and the sheer volume passes over Stiles but the threat is lost on him. He coughs again but blood replaces the air he loses. He can feel the blood sliding out of his mouth and down his cheek. The black finally creeps around his vision. Maybe he’ll just die before the decision is made for him.

Arms slide around his torso but the touch feels oddly distant. He knows that it’s Derek holding him and not his dad. He can feel his panic as if its flowing into Stiles.

Derek pulls his arm up with one clawed hand but Stiles kinda figures it’s too late for him. Derek’s teeth fit perfectly around his wrist, like he was meant to bite Stiles there, like his wrist had purposefully been scrawny and wiry his whole life so that Derek didn’t have to work too hard to bite him.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles tries to say but it’s really only a gurgle. Derek freezes, staring at Stiles. He’s sorry his pride kept Derek away. He’s sorry he wasn’t stronger or faster, sorry that he had to be the weak link that endangered them all. He’s sorry he has to leave his father.

Stiles coughs a bit and tries to make Derek understand, pulling his arm free with what little energy he has left. He grabs for his father and finds his hand. “I’m sorry,” he manages in what, to him, sounds like actual English. If the look in Derek’s eyes have anything to say about it, the wolf understood as well. He can’t tell if his dad has gotten the message because all he keeps mumbling is Stiles’ name.

It’s as if something had kept the blood at bay for this moment. As soon as the words are out Stiles begins choking again, his heart sluggishly pushing the blood into his lungs. He hears his dad screaming at him now and feels his father’s hands on his face. Derek bites into his wrist before everything went dark and the pain disappeared.

**Author's Note:**

> I left it ambiguous because I am considering continuing this but I don't know in what direction. Comments are welcome! Let me know what you think...


End file.
